


The Election is Over

by putconspiraciesinit



Category: 19th Century CE RPF, American History RPF, Historical RPF, Political RPF - US 19th c.
Genre: (sort of), Aaron Burr Finally Gets Some Sleep, Election of 1800, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics, Sickfic, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Cuddles, can be read as platonic or romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 17:05:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17871284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/putconspiraciesinit/pseuds/putconspiraciesinit
Summary: America's first two political parties have finally finished determining how many conspiracies and betrayals can fit into one election. To ill and weak from sleep deprivation to do anything, Aaron Burr--whom was the subject of many of these conspiracies and betrayals--has become a recluse and stopped speaking to others almost entirely; his concerned friends try to bring him back to his senses.





	The Election is Over

**Author's Note:**

> This is Not about Aaron Burr the character from the musical Hamilton, it is about the historical Aaron Burr. The real election of 1800 was wild.

The door opened, and a woman, in a well-practiced, almost mechanical voice, began:

“Mr. Burr is unwell and cannot receive guests--oh, it’s you--I suppose he won’t mind, then. Do come in, Mr. Dayton; perhaps it will do Mr. Burr good to speak to somebody he knows.”

“He is unwell enough not to answer the door in person?”

“He has been rather unwell for several months, sir, but now he has not left his bedchamber in nearly four days! I do hope his speaking with you could perhaps bring him to his senses.”

“I shall do my best. Thank you, Anna.”

Dayton hung up his hat and rushed towards Burr’s room, unsure exactly of how he might find his friend, who was usually loathe to admit he was unwell even immediately before and after a fainting spell; if he was ill enough to refuse socialization, it must be serious.

As he drew near the room, he began to hear somebody inside sobbing quite loudly--it was undoubtedly Burr’s voice, but Burr never cried.

“Er, Burr, are you alright in there?”

“Dayton, what a surprise, I--yes, I am perfectly alright, thank you,” responded Burr, in a very shaky and hoarse and decidedly not alright-sounding voice. Dayton opened the door.

Burr was in bed, looking pale and sickly and very much as though he had been crying. The past few months, his utter lack of sleep had stopped being a secret, as even under rather heavy makeup there were still visible dark circles under his eyes; however, without makeup, he looked almost ready to simply keel over and die at any moment. He had grown skeletally thin, and his voice had become hoarse from frequent vomiting; lack of sleep had deprived him of all apetite to the point at which nothing he ate ever stayed down.

“Thank you for coming to visit,” he murmured.

“Well, Burr, I have come because I am rather worried about you. You are evidently unwell--”

“I  _ cannot _ sleep--”

“--emotionally, my dear Burr. I have no intention of preaching to you on the importance of sleep to a man’s physical health; you have always made every attempt to forego it, ever since we were children. However, it is completely and utterly unlike you to forego socialization, or to cry! I should appreciate it most sincerely if you would tell me what on Earth has you like this!”

Burr took a few deep, unsteady breaths.

“It is Mr. Jefferson, I believe. I cannot describe to you the effect which he has upon me. Far be it from me to accuse him of anything, beyond betraying me to advance his own cause, but God help me, that is enough! I nearly spill my own blood for this man, for his political advancement, for his party, and how does he repay me? Why, he frames me for all sorts of despicable schemes and plots, and he gives all of the credit for his campaign to--” Burr once again broke down in tears. Dayton sat beside him on the bed and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Hamilton, I suppose?”

“To Mr. Hamilton, yes! Mr.  _ Hamilton _ , Dayton! Can you believe? He  _ must _ have done this to insult me, I simply cannot see how else he could possibly have intended it. That man, that… third-rate scandal-mongering propagandist, who sticks his incredibly oversized nose into this election at the very last minute! Mr. Jefferson is determined to make an enemy of me, I am certain of it. And to think, how I adored him, before! Oh, Dayton, I am an idiot.”

“Well, Burr, if it is of any comfort, I did not foresee his betrayal any more than you did. You do not think me an idiot, do you?”

“No, of course not...I should never have called myself an idiot for believing Mr. Jefferson; I have always felt that my optimism is something I must pride myself on. However, I am an idiot for wasting tears on that ungodly man! He does not deserve even the slightest passing thought from me after all he’s done, and yet, here I am,  _ crying _ over him. I haven’t cried this much since…”

_ Since Theodosia died _ , thought Dayton. It was true; that was the last time anybody had reported seeing Burr brought to tears.

“Well, you know,” far be it from Burr to speak of such events, of course. “The point is, the previous time, it was an appropriate occasion. What sort of politician cries over political matters? Not a good one, I suppose.”

“That awful Jefferson strikes me as the type to cry over political matters. Perhaps having to credit Mr. Hamilton of all people with his presidential victory was enough to move him to tears, in private. Perhaps he is crying about it as we speak.”

Burr giggled. “That is...a comforting image.”

“And I cannot imagine Mr. Hamilton happy, that he was forced to choose between campaigning for Mr. Adams, whom he despises, Mr. Jefferson, whom he despises more, or yourself, with whom he seems most violently obsessed. Can you picture what Mr. Hamilton would look like, crying?”

“I cannot imagine he looks quite as handsome in such a state as he usually does.”

“Do you usually find Mr. Hamilton handsome?”

“He  _ is _ handsome, nose notwithstanding. Of course, should he ever come to realize that I am aware of this, I shall have to eat my pistol.”

“How dramatic, my dear Burr!”

“ _ Appropriately _ dramatic, my dear Dayton. How else could I possibly react? Mr. Hamilton should never allow me to hear the end of it. It is crucial that he continue to believe that I despise him most thoroughly.”

“Do you not despise him?”

“It is complicated! It is possible to fear a person, and to find oneself attracted to them, all the same.”

“Oh, Burr, you ridiculous little man!”

Burr was now laughing, genuinely laughing; a good sign, Dayton supposed. It was certainly better than sobbing hysterically.

“It is a tad ridiculous, but what is one to do? That sort of  _ fury  _ Mr. Hamilton has about him, it can be as attractive as it is deeply terrifying.”

“Ah, so it’s  _ fury _ you find attractive? However did you end up with myself and Ogden, then, my dear Burr? Neither one of us have any propensity for being furious!”

“Well, you see, a man can find more than one trait attractive. And besides, Mr. Hamilton’s sort of fury would be unbecoming on yourself or Ogden--though it should certainly be a sight to behold, what with the two of you being quite significantly taller than Mr. Hamilton.”

“You would enjoy such a sight, Burr, you  _ ridiculous _ little man. You are doing that voice.”

“Perhaps, if you or Ogden were to become as furious as Mr. Hamilton, and that fury to be directed towards a certain Mr. Thomas Jefferson, and to result in some form of injury to befall him, I should certainly enjoy such a sight.”

“I am furious with Mr. Jefferson; not violently so, I am afraid, but perhaps that shall change, should he ever hurt you again.”

“Oh,  _ Dayton _ ! How perfectly gallant of you. Perhaps unrealistically so, as he is now the president and therefore essentially untouchable, but it is a beautiful fantasy.”

“Perhaps, if he so desperately wishes for you and all of your allies to be schemers and plotters, you and I, and Ogden, should plot something against him. Something minor, nothing that may be construed as a criminal offense…”

“Though how I should love to see that horrible man assassinated…”

“Oh, Burr, how utterly unlike you!”

Both men laughed.

Suddenly, the door opened again, on an incredibly tall man.

“Dayton, Burr--apologies, I was confused about what time I was meant to arrive here, I see I am somewhat late.”

“Ogden!” exclaimed Burr. “Another pleasant surprise!”

“Are you able to get out of bed, do you think?” asked Ogden.

“I fear I may still be too weak. Would you come and lie with me?”

“Of course--Dayton, lie down and move over, will you?”

He did, and in seconds the three men were comfortably huddled together, Burr sandwiched between Ogden and Dayton. Ogden slid one massive arm around Burr’s small frame, smiling.

“Are you feeling any better at all?”

“Somewhat, thanks to you and Dayton. God knows what I would do without the two of you.”

“Let us not think of such a scenario.”

A few moments passed in relative silence, with the only audible sound being the ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle. Ogden spoke first.

“So, Burr. You’re the vice-president, now…”

“My  _ God _ , Ogden, you are correct, and I am still in shock, I believe.”

“Understandable, I suppose.”

Dayton cackled.

“We all used to worry that we were narcissists, when we were children, for believing that we would one day grow up to be very important! Now you’re the vice-president, Ogden and I are senators, and the government is actively conspiring against you!”

“I wish they would  _ not _ do that. Conspire against somebody else, government. I am  _ busy _ , damn it!”

“Perhaps the government should try conspiring against Mr. Cheetham,” giggled Dayton. “To stop him from writing, you see. It would truly be a great service to our country.”

“If I had earlier called Mr. Hamilton a third-rate propagandist, I should have to call Mr. Cheetham a fourth, or perhaps fifth-rate one. At least Mr. Hamilton has  _ style _ , you know? He has a certain  _ flair _ to his writing. Mr. Cheetham writes as a pubescent boy only just discovering the feeling of sexual attraction would.”

“Well, he is, what...twenty-something?”

Ogden scoffed. “We were all  _ much _ more eloquent than that, when we were in our twenties! ‘Prick’t by a Burr,’ how juvenile a pun! When we were in the army, the pickup lines I used on women in bars after one too many beers were better than anything Mr. Cheetham can write!”

“I will never be one to defend Mr. Cheetham, my dear Ogden, as I have just called him a fifth-rate propagandist” laughed Burr, “but those pickup lines were outright horrible.”

“And then, let us see you do better, dearest Burr!”

“I do not need to employ pickup lines. Women and men alike need only make light conversation with me, before wishing to fuck me senseless; sometimes, they need only  _ see _ me, although…” Burr’s smile faded, replaced by a rather depressed sort of expression. “I doubt that could be the case, nowadays.”

“ _ Do _ tell me you are not about to assert that you are not incredibly attractive,” said Dayton, sounding incredulous. “As I would prefer not to think of what that should make the rest of us!”

“Oh, do not say such things! You and Ogden are perfectly dashing! I, on the other hand, have let myself go. Look at me; I have the appearance of a skeleton, or at least I am as pale and as thin as one, and the dark circles under my eyes make one think of the eye sockets in a bare skull! And my hair begins to fall out, as though my hairline needed to get any worse!”

“Burr! You...well, you look  _ tired _ , of course, but your appearance is not beyond salvation! You need only get some rest; I am sure that if you do that, your appetite shall return in time, and you shall make a full recovery.”

“You have recovered from worse; remember Monmouth!” Added Ogden.

“My apologies, I have felt uncharacteristically pessimistic, of late.” Burr yawned. “I feel as though every aspect of my being has been drained and dulled. It is a dramatic thing to say, but it is the unfortunate truth; this election has taken its toll.”

Dayton smiled.

“The election is over, dear Burr.”

 

Burr did not respond. He had fallen asleep.


End file.
